


Ghosts of Winter

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:03:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9677165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: The war is over, but Brienne and Jaime still fight their battles.





	

Even now, though the worst of Winter has passed and the dawn of Spring flirts on the horizon, the cold winds blisters the skin and seeps into the bones, leaving one feeling like death. Yet, were it not a folly to do so, she would prefer to sleep out in the night, under the stars and the moon. Out in the open and away from the shadows that flicker and dance against the red walls of her and her Lord's pavilion. She lies awake at night, stirred from her sleep by the sound of a wolf singing, and watches the shadows.  
The brazier burns merrily, but does little to shield her from the cold that runs gentle fingers down her back and breathes on her neck. All the brazier does is paint shadows across room. Always moving, never still. Never resting. She lies there, watching, waiting. Waiting for the shadows to take form and become an arm, a hand clutching a dagger, a face.  
Twin swords sleep together, always close at hand, but useless. What can kill a shadow?  
Some nights she flings off the furs that weigh her down and staggers blindly into the dark. Sharp shard of grass prick her feet and her skin ices over. A lone wolf stalks through the trees; on the prowl for his dinner, and the wind carries snatches of bawdy singing from drunken fools who may not know better than to leave their Lord's wife unmolested. But still she remains outside.  
Daggers can gut wolves. Swords can cut fools. And ice can fight fire.  
Nothing can kill a shadow. Nothing but the sun and the morning.  
And so she waits.  
Then two arms and one hand; warm and familiar, tighten across her waist and pulls her close. She is lead back inside and pushed down against the furs. He brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes and joins her. Turning over and burying her head into his shoulder, she clenches her eyes tight shut against his skin and waits for sleep to welcome her once more. He will block out the shadows.  
                                                                                                        ~  
It is a wolf. Just a wolf. And the wolves are not his enemies, not any more. They are his allies now, friends forged in a flame only found in the deepest of winters. Just a friendly wolf, singing to the moon. But still he could hear the screams. Murdered Princesses that he couldn't save, friends cut down in battle and their widows and mothers howling their grief at Gods who turn their backs and refuse to listen.  
His sister didn't scream. She wouldn't give them the pleasure. So many lusted for her death, longed for her blood to swell on their blade and desperate pleads to echo in their ears, that there was only one thing she could do.  
They found her on the throne.  
That ugly iron throne, on which so many bled. They found her there. Her regal gown and crown barely rivaling her purple face and ruby trimmings around her eyes and nose. There was no screams, just silence.  
Silence is no better than screams.  
In fact, the only thing worse is his Lady's screams. Her grunts of pain as her skin met with steel, her broken sobs over the bodies of fallen friends, and her muffled cries against her pillow.  
Tonight, there are no screams. Just steady breathing. Sweeter than music and friendlier than a lullaby. She is warm and large and solid against his weary body. He feels her chest rise and fall and listens to her breathe, drowning out the screams.


End file.
